The Seer & The Strider, today
The Seer scrolls through maps and dreams,
A tablet glowing with quiet schemes.
She sees the rooftops ripe for green,
The vacant lots that long to teem.
The Strider lifts a crate of soil,
He wires lights and checks the coil.
He shows up early, stays past dark,
And hauls the mulch that starts the park.
She speaks of systems, shared design—
Community plots and food as sign.
He builds the beds, he hangs the gate,
He texts the crew: “Tomorrow—eight.”
The Seer gathers voices near,
Hosts potlucks full of hope and cheer.
The Strider clears the cluttered shed,
And gets the fence posts straight and spread.
Alone, the Seer’s plans stall out,
Too clean, too quiet, laced with doubt.
Alone, the Strider burns too fast—
All motion, but no dream to last.
Together now, they shape the way:
A garden co-op, a street café.
Where tools are shared and stories sown,
And no one has to build alone.
The Seer & The Strider, yesterday
One sees the world with eagle eyes,
Maps the stars and reads the skies.
He knows the roots beneath the land,
But cannot move, nor lift a hand.
The other walks with calloused feet,
Blind to thorns and blind to wheat.
He does not ask which way is right—
He only moves, and trusts the light.
Alone, the Seer dreams in vain,
And Strider wanders lost in pain.
But bound as one, they find their way:
The Seer to guide, the Strider to stay.
So let your mind be wide and wise,
And let your labor harmonize.
For vision sleeps, and will is wild—
Until they walk the world reconciled.
Seer & Strider in the Garden
The Seer sits beneath an oak,
With lichen thoughts and words bespoke.
He knows the path the roots have traced,
But cannot till a single place.
The Strider walks the furrowed rows,
Where nettles bite and wild thyme grows.
He cannot name the songbird’s call,
But he will build a trellis tall.
The Seer sees where seeds belong,
The shape of shade, the arc of song.
The Strider stoops with muddy hands,
And turns the earth to meet those plans.
Alone, the Seer draws garden dreams,
But nothing grows from visions seen.
Alone, the Strider bends and sows,
But plants without a place to go.
Together now, they walk as one—
With trowel, map, and morning sun.
The Seer speaks, the Strider hears,
And what they plant outlasts the years.
